Dash studied the sailboat Thorne had rented. Maybe this was a mistake. He had zero experience with boats beyond an ill-fated canoe trip he took with his friend Susan, Lilah, and Susan’s now-ex husband. He’d been eighteen, and he’d spent most of the weekend soaking wet. But Thorne obviously knew what he was doing as he scurried around the deck, checking out the various ropes. Were they called rigging? He suddenly imagined Thorne racing up a rope to look out from the crow’s nest, but sexy as the idea was, Thorne wasn’t actually a pirate. This was just a small sailboat, boating for the rich and idle, not risking life and limb on the high seas.

Heat filled his cheeks when he remembered what he’d said about playing pirate and captive. Why the fuck was he blushing? Rent boys didn’t blush.

“Come aboard, we’re all set,” Thorne called.

Dash held out the picnic basket, afraid the rocking of the boat would make him drop it. Once the basket was safe in the boat, Dash gingerly placed one foot on the deck, pausing with his arms out for balance as the boat rocked. Why did everyone look so agile doing this in movies?

Thorne took his hand. “You don’t have to be that careful. You aren’t going to tip her over.”

Dash took the next step and he was on board, the boat swaying gently under his feet. The wind was strong enough to ruffle even Thorne’s short hair. He assumed that meant it was a good day for sailing.

“Don’t lean too far over the side, listen to me if I tell you to shift your weight, and duck if I say so or the boom might try to take your head off.” Thorne patted the long pole supporting the bottom of the larger sail. That must be the boom.

“I think I can remember that.”

“Then you’ll be fine.” Thorne gestured toward one of the benches lining the sides of the boat. “Have a seat.”

The seats didn’t look very comfortable. Was Thorne serious about fucking in this thing? Dash had been with men in a hell of a lot of different places, including full-on ass sex in a MINI Cooper, and he still wasn’t sure sex in a sailboat would be practical.

“I didn’t realize it would be this small.”

Thorne laughed. “It’s a sailboat, not a yacht. And a small sailboat at that. The one I owned was several feet longer. This one’s only a fifteen-foot daysailer.”

“I guess I really don’t know much about boats.”

Thorne smiled at him, obviously pleased to be the one in the know. “Just relax and trust me.”